ArtiST 2012 Winners
The five participating journals were judged by Dr. Jake Adam York on literary content, art/layout/design, and use of technology/format. The winners are:Rune (MIT): Best Literary Content
Signatures (RIT): Best Art & Layout/Design
High Grade (CSM): Best Use of Technology/Format

The Journals

Volume One

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She Wanted to Save me the SkyShira Richman

My first word was north. I knew it
would be, but not what it meant
until I said it. I said it when I saw a white

speck in the blue-black sky. That's when
my mother said, Pack up. It's time
we move. South, and drove us down to Aberdeen

where the clouds perpetually cover the face of the sky.
That winter she announced, Four-thirty
is the new magic number, your new bedtime.

I knew she knew I shouldn't see
the dandelion seed shaped light.
That's when north started multiplying in my dreams

until it undid the dark, undid the night.

Poetry

High Grade

Doll and GirlShifan "Lewis" Geng

Ink

Photography

NoiseSasha Rose Herbert

Photography

Signatures

SmokeJanet Li

She sits and types
Watching smoke unfurling tenderly,
Translucent wisps
floating heavenward from her fingertips.
She stares in the mirror, but her face
is lost behind a thick cloud
That folds and unfolds and contracts upon itself
until it is, too, lost in space.
She practices blowing smoke rings,
watches the perfect little O's escape from her mouth
like the ghosts of donuts,
While slivers of ash
gray, silver, white, black
Fall like confetti to the floor.
Bit by bit, they pile up over each other,
carpeting the ground with fire's dead remains,
Silent carcasses of Flame's once bright and dancing youth. Slowly, gradually,
they cover her feet,
Reach her legs, her chest, her neck;
Encase her frozen face,
mouth still petrified in a ring-shaped 'O'.
Again and again
tendrils of flaking white ash flutter down,
Mount higher and higher;
Smother her flat eyes, her brows, the tips of her pixie-cut hair until there is no sign of the girl,
until she is gone,
Buried alive in the fragile, collapsible graveyard
with all the corpses
of her own smoke.

Rune

Poetry

Breathing BonesLeah Brunetto

Mixed Media

Rune

Summer FruitJohn Pigg

High Grade

Digital

Cigar WomanMaxim Przystaw

Photography

Ink

Lost in TranslationChristine Hrdlicka

High Grade

Photography

RaindropsDavid Kirslis

There I sat, waiting on the train
Over cast, and it began to rain
And as I ran, I slowed into a walk
As I saw a girl counting the raindrops
I said “Oh Miss, we should head for shelter soon,
Don’t make no sense getting all wet, and they’ve got plenty room”
She said “What do you know about sense? Because it’s really just state of mind
Sense is a mistake made by most, made by most mankind
Because if you see your world as I do mine
The sky is always black
Just pay it no mind
From ash to ash
Just flesh and bones
She said it’s just you
You’re on your own
So I must wait to catch my train,
And no, I really don’t mind the rain
But if you live to discover something new
Could you please tell me? I’d love to change my view”

There I stood, drenched and soaking wet
Left with her words, which I’d never forget
She disappeared and I watched the rain fall
Trying to make sense of this world, make sense of it all
Because if you see your world as I do mine
Don’t worry about your things, don’t worry about time
What I believe can’t be took
And you won’t find it in any book
I don’t know what exist up above
I just believe in kindness and in love
So what I will say, from all that I know
Don’t let your heart drown in your mind’s sorrow.

Poetry

Erato

WeatheredRandy Thurman

Rune

Painting

Inner BeautyKelli Phillips

Photography

Ink

The SplitRory Olsen

I was looking at the bathroom mirrorwhen I noticed
a faint crack on my forehead
looking like a jagged, angry hair

I leaned in closer,
to see the crack run further like
the next frame of some high-speed camera'sphotos of a lightning strike

So I jerked my head back
and you know what, it cracked more
if my head had been an egg,
it would've been almost time for omelets

Struck with horror and stunned withfascination, I watched on, open-mouthedwhile I became much more
open-minded

High Grade

Poetry

Tides in WinterShane Schrader

wet ice on my face

eyes closed in the torrent of

white diamonds in flight.

Poetry

High Grade

Shades of WinterCandice Cornetet

Ink

Drawing

UntitledAudrey Marilyn Jacobs

Visual

Signatures

WaxBen Bowlin

I’m so optimistic! I admit
Ghosts haunt our intentions. Deep shit
Will confuse us. We will quit one
moment’s notice before we would’ve
won

But – you know? – despite it I,
With all my failings, still believe.
In god, in you, in a million things
No expert can disprove. I
Shun

All disbelief as unpoetic. As a ruse
And, among the slow, diffuse
Dance from now to next, I do
Not despair. I knew you’d read this
You

Are not you anymore than I am. Know
That nothing’s ever ending; at the worst,
Things will just grow.

My girlfriend asked me if I loved her,
But I could not answer – you see, I always
Keep my cards close to my chest; like the best
Poker player.

No-one could possibly have such a blank expression
When asked life's most important questions.

"Tell me, does anything ever remain?"
"Grains in a coffee cup," was the only answer I could give.

I took her to New York City last Christmas.
She twirled around the ice-rink like a flower blowing
In life's kingly wind.

"Do you love me?" again she asked.
"You know I can't answer that question."
"So, it's a yes, then?"

There were cars big as stars,
There were skyscrapers shiny as chrome.
And then... then there was her.

You see, when faced with naked emotion,
Both within and without, sometimes one
Can only stare. Have a blank expression,
Like a painter's canvas before color is
Masterly applied.

Poetry

Rune

Color would look so perfect on this fresco,
But I'm afraid of being completed, finished.
Initially admired then stored in some back room;
Deemed not beautiful enough,
For silver can never shine the brightest.
I did not yet understand that the sky,
A mighty canvas rolling, gives its gold

To all who look at it; poor or rich man,
Those who experience godly peace,
Or hell's desperate dark.
When beauty is there we must treasure it,
But not its self possess. But still I kept my cards
Hidden, locked away in some heartly vault.

I was so occupied that I did not notice that the plaster
Was drying, so the buon fresco might never be finished.

The thought of being a writer was my labor,
And love it consumed.
Was she merely Armani draped over my rigid,
Unbending arm?

I supposed I wanted the fame of Kerouac, or Hesse,
Without applying the effort their work deserved.
Wanting to drink in coffee houses with a facial glow,
Recognized by passers-by and rambling drunks.
Much preferable than having to summon gods and demons;
Alone in my room. The cold winter biting.
A writer not a reader. I never read the pages held within.

That was my last Christmas with her.
She died of meningitis.
The giornata had dried.
And if only I had had the courage to tell her
That all the cards I kept obscured inside
Were hearts.

(Have I failed because I have spoken more about myself than her?)

TangledKevin Barry

High Grade

Drawing

LungeBenlin Alexander

Painting

Signatures

Legs of SteelDorian Dargan

I want legs of steel
so when I give the kick of life
i know yall feel me.

i speak not of dreams, of Nebuchadnezzar's muses
but of substance, of real.

...that elevated air one breathes,
enlightening, informing and transforming...

i wish to be a milkman of sorts,
delivering new nourishment
while smashing down strongholds of complacency...

a Thai warrior,
a champion of cognizance...
strong, brazen and battle-tested.

with legs of steel.

Rune

Poetry

Another State of MindSandunie Liyanagamage

Photography

Erato

Mr. GillyAudrey Marilyn Jacobs

Signatures

Photography

The Newspaper is DeadChristianna Piwinski

I am the ink
that collects
in the pools
of your finger
tips
when you read
the obituaries
in the newspaper.

Poetry

Signatures

ChronosIan Stone

High Grade

Photography

Earth BrothersAnna Leigh Clem

Phone poles, broken tree souls
Ode to our fallen soldiers
Their breath is what we once breathed and
Now we heave from ashen leaves

Electric veins remain in vain
Earth brothers laid down to rest
At best the bookshelf holding on
To a hundred reflections of self

Poetry

Signatures

FallRachel Andrews

i smell sky
haze of sea picked up by
the breeze, the yellow
coins drop to the brick
and seep into the cracks and
dimples and disappear.
a tally of these days grows
and the jar-ful dwindles
i taste air
full of healthy promise
i see colors
and wonder how everything
used to be so dim

Erato

Poetry

Thanks to everyone who participated in the very first ArtiST collaboration! We look forward to seeing you all next year!